January 29, 2019 – Yo Yos – dressing up a pillow

         When I watch the news, I stich Yo Yos during the commercials.  If you are unaware of what they are they are a circle of fabric that you stich around the edge and pull the thread tight.  When cinched it turns into a puffy little circle.

         Often I have fabric scraps left over after cutting out an item to sew and I save the small pieces and cut out circles and make Yo Yos.

        

         Often at church bazaars, you will see dolls made out of yo yos which are rather cute.

         There is a scene in the move “Sleepless in Seattle” where you can catch a glimpse of the actress who plays Annie Reed [Meg Ryan] in her apartment in the background is a tablecloth made out of Yo Yos.  I noticed it the first time I watched that movie and every time I re-watch that movie I write YoYo tablecloth on my “TO DO” list.

         I’ve always wanted a Yo Yo tablecloth like that – and it is still on “bucket list” for craft projects, but I am redecorating my living room and I have two almost lovely pillows that came with a new couch.

         I don’t like the design on one side of the new pillows and I am going to cover that side with white fabric topped with Yo Yos. I have enough Yo Yos for two pillows, but not a tablecloth at this time.

         Above is a picture of the stitched together Yo Yos simply draped over the pillow.  It will look more presentable when there is white under the multi-colored Yo Yos.

         I find it restful sewing these little puffs of fabric.  They keep me busy during the commercials.  Sewing a couple here, a couple there – they add up at the end of an evening.

         Later on, I will coordinate a table cloth.

                 

January 28, 2019 – “When are you going to rehang the curtains?”

        Yes, we have been living in a literal fish bowl the last few days.  The double window in the formal dining room is naked – yes, and all the neighbors can look in as they drive by.

         And, honestly, many are slowing down and peering in to see what we are up to.  One neighbor caught me on the 3-step ladder painting the woodwork and even paused to give me a big smile and wave.

         Maybe the entire neighborhood will get the “improvement” bug and the property values will go up.  Then the taxes will go up – I’m not sure I like the latter part of that theory. 

         Wall number two is now painted and I can safely put back up the curtains.

         Wall number three is coming up a little later today – this will require the scaffolding.  I’ve never worked on scaffolding so I am looking forward to the experience.

         In the next few days I might be off line – I will have to shut the computer down and remove it to safety in the next few days – but I am not gone – only “gone dark” temporarily.

         But, living in a “fish bowl” brings back a poignant memory from the time we lived in Seaford, Delaware, during one of many corporate moves.   

         I helped packed my husband’s travel bag for a business trip to Florida where he was going to work on a special project at a satellite plant.  I was working at a law office and he called me midday with last minute reminders and kisses. He was flying out that afternoon and would touch bases with me in the morning when he had a telephone number where he could be reached in case of emergency.  [This was way before cell phones even came into existence.]

         On the way home from work I decided to do a bit of grocery shopping and deciding to make my life easier, I picked up a few frozen dinners.  Back in the old days they were called TV dinners and sometimes I even revert to that quaint name now.   Back then, I did not have a microwave so what I picked up were the little tin trays with the frozen food in same and then capped with a tinfoil top which were baked in a conventional oven.

         I casually picked up one of this, one of that, oh, that looks interesting, and put a weeks’ worth in my cart.

         The next morning as I was making my coffee prior to going off to work, my husband telephoned.

         “We live in a fish bowl,” were the his first words.

         “What?”

         “I hadn’t even got to having dinner with the boss down here and I got the report that ‘your poor wife has been reduced to frozen dinners’.

         “Are you serious?”

         “Yes – you did buy frozen dinners when you were shopping yesterday after work?”

         “I thought it would be easier than cooking for just one.”

         “Well someone saw you and it hit the wild-fire gossip mill.  I was embarrassed to say the least.”

         “I didn’t see anyone I knew in the grocery store.”

         “Well you wouldn’t, you haven’t met all the troops.”  [Troops is what he called his employees.]

         “How would they even know me?”

         “I’ve brought you to the plant a few times for you to see the new tools, everyone knows everyone in that burg.”

         “Well, what am I supposed to do?”

         “Just know that you are being watched and they will probably be reporting everything you do.  Use discretion.”

         He didn’t say I miss you or I love you or any endearment because he felt ‘company ears’ were listening to his telephone call.

         Use discretion.  What was that supposed to mean? 

         I didn’t know anyone except plant management and their wives and the people I worked with in a small three-person law office.

         I mentioned the situation to my attorney-boss. He had the biggest belly laugh but confirmed the strength and breadth of the gossip mill in the area pointing out there were only three big places of employment in town, and my husband worked at one of them.  There were few outsiders and most everyone was born and raised in the area. 

         That was the day my attorney-boss mentioned that I shouldn’t even shop at “that” particular grocery store as it was for the blacks.  I didn’t comprehend what he was really saying as the prices were good and the store was close to the office.

         “Why?”

         “Let me phrase this differently, don’t shop after dark at ‘that’ store. But, if you still want to grocery shop at ‘that’ store please do it at lunch time and take your groceries home and don’t worry if you return to work late.”

         I ate every one of those dreadful TV dinners for several evenings waiting for my husband’s return.

         The first night back he took me out to dinner at a nice restaurant hoping the gossip mill could report to the boss that I was being treated like a corporate wife should be treated.

         We know the real meaning of living in a fish bowl.

January 27, 2019 – The color of paint . . .

         It took forever to get the right color of paint for this project.  When I mentioned I couldn’t find what I wanted a friend said,

         “You do know that if you find something the color you want – the paint store will match it with a computer eye thing.”

         “I didn’t know that!”

         She looked at me like I’d been living under a rock, but then, she is in the know – she has flipped at least a dozen houses by now and is extremely accomplished at doing it.  She has always had me come see the “before” and then I get to see it in the “middle” and then at the “end” and trust me, I am always impressed.

         I couldn’t do that much - too stressful.  I am just doing a new flooring, fresh baseboard and painting and I have a high stress level which is enough for me working alone.

         Back to the paint:  Occasionally I have been in rooms that are the softest of a pale yellow.  In the last few weeks I have been wracking my brain thinking – where was it I admired the paint.

         Just now, coming back from funeral visitation hours, I now can tell you that the chapel at Padgett & King funeral home in Forest City, North Carolina, has that lovely yellow on the walls and also has those white plantation shutters under arched windows up both sides of the chapel flanking the wooden pews.  The yellow paint is fresh, lovely, and actually cheerful, a good thing for a funeral chapel.

         One day last week, I took a stick of butter in its wax paper wrapper to a paint store and they had their electronic eye look at it to come up with a color.  I spent about $8 on the pint sample it produced.  It looked great “wet” but when I went to paint the wall with the sample – GASP – looked like a golden brown paper bag.  Too much gold color, not enough white. MUDDY! I rolled a two by four foot patch on each wall of the room and let it dry.  It looked awful wet and even worse dry.

         At that point, I complained to someone else and they said to me,

         “I mix my own.”

         “Come again, how do you do that?”

         “I take my hobby paint set and start with white and then add a drop of whatever color I am going for and play with it until I get what I want – or close to it.  Then I take that to the paint store and try to match up a chip.  It’s the store lights that are the problem.”

         I pondered it a while and I slept on it trying to remember where I had shoved my hobby paints. In the morning, I took her sage advice.

         After coffee and while the sun was shining into my room, I mixed up two batches.  One was white acrylic paint with a drop of acrylic yellow – good gosh – instant yellow school bus.  I painted another patch on the wall, it was closer to what I wanted – but still nowhere near a stick of butter when I carried it out to the wall and held it up without the wax wrapper for comparison.

         Then, I tried another batch – white acrylic, but this time I used watercolor paint in it – YEAH – they aren’t supposed to mix, but that Artist’s Water Colour 087 Cadmium Yellow Pale mixed perfectly fine with enough white acrylic to give me the shade of a good quality butter.  I stroked a patch on all four walls and said, “YES!”

         I didn’t wait for it to dry . . . I painted a 3 x 5 card with the shade of yellow and shoved it in a plastic Ziploc. I went directly to the store.  I found three or four paint chips almost close.  I took those to the exit door and held them in the natural light and found one that seemed perfect.  I bought a half-pint of it and came home.

         Again, I painted the two by four foot patches on all four walls using the entire half pint of paint.  Yes, more like it, I said to myself when it was wet and then I waited until morning.  “YES exactly what I want.”

         Finally, I found the color – for those with curious minds, it is Valspar, Yellow Bliss – and is very close to the color of a yellow sticky note and “spot-on” with my butter sample.

         Today I started painting.  I am out of practice – muscle wise, so I decided I’d paint only one wall and then wait to do a larger wall tomorrow.  I tackled the smallest wall – but the most difficult one – the one with the computer connections and all the electrical  and telephone outlets. 

         No, I did not unplug all the cables and wires again. I worked around the abundance of cords and cables and wires.  Yes, I feel it in my arms and shoulders and I know I can’t overdo. 

         There is this thing called fibromyalgia that I am all too familiar with - overdoing one day and not being able to do anything for three days – so I have to pace myself.  I have found that if I work one long workday I need to take two or three break days to recover versus working one short workday makes for several continuous short workdays in row. 

         It is a case of the tortoise getting to the finish line without having to lie down and die of exhaustion.

January 26, 2019 – Girl power

         I am in the middle of transforming my old office in the formal living room back into a residential living room.  Out the office furniture went.  Then I went “hunting” – yes, that is the phrase I learned from the gals down here for flooring.   I found it and then I went on the warpath for paint.  I’ve been collecting paint samples for four months waiting on the January project start.  I will blog about the paint color soon.

         But, I also bought a heavy duty scaffold.  I have a high peak in the center of my home that I cannot easily reach it on a 6-foot ladder.  It is just not safe for me at this point in my life to be teetering on a 6-foot ladder to do the ceiling trim and the high walls.  And, yes, I have tried the long pole roller and I seem to get more paint on the floor than on the walls.

         My man, Larry, - a friend that does work for me when he has time is my handy-man.  I talked him into helping me get the scaffold [in a box] from the Harbor Freight into my living room in the pouring rain.  By the time it got from the store into his truck and then out of his truck and then on a hand truck to the front steps and in the house – the cardboard box was sopping wet.

         It was extremely heavy for Larry – or more awkward and heavy.  That gave me self-doubts that I would be able to put it together myself.

         The next day after a cup of courage – ahh – coffee that is – I cut off the carton, and with the help of my husband set the pieces out and looked for the directions.  Then, the cardboard took a ride to the trash dump [convenience center is what they call it here] and I sat and read the instructions.

         I found the instructions too simple – that scared me into self-doubt. Only six steps – how is that possible? I put in a crisis call to Larry that I might need his help.  The conversation was left open-ended.

         Then I chatted with my jack-of-all-trades brother telling him I didn’t think I could put it together without the help of a handyman and he said,

         “It only weighs 100 pounds.  How many pieces does it have?”

         “Five”,

         “Five pieces – probably none weight over 25 pounds each.  You can lift that.”

         I slept on that after reviewing the instructions again and the next day I had enough courage to plan on asking a favor of a woman friend.

         Couple more days went by and now it is Friday and a friend was coming by to visit and I made Biscotti for her.  She admired my new second Monique – just as she did years ago when my first Monique was slimmer and in a black slip and floral hat.

         We had Biscotti’s and then I gently asked her to help me put the scaffolding together.  When my husband went off grocery shopping, I fished out the directions and we went through the six simple steps.

         “Step one – Wheels,” I said and read the instructions and put one on.

         “WOW that was simple.” While I did my second wheel, my friend grabbed a wheel and did one and then the fourth one.

          “We are on a roll!”

         Then we put the side rails on after an exhaustive search for my tape measure to see exactly how high I wanted the platform. Never did locate the tape measure – now added to my buy list. We guestimated.

         Looking at the directions – we figured out the side rail attachment to the end frame.  My friend held it upright and I pulled the lever spring and snap it was together, then I followed up with the safety pin.  “Oh, slick snaps in.”

         We were pleased with ourselves and the second side rail attachment to the same end was just as easy.

         Then things got a little hard – until we figured out how to turn it over and down so that we could attach the side rails to the other end.  On the second attachment, one of the wheels took a flop and I caught my middle left finger momentarily under the pending weight of the frame – “Ouch” I pulled it out before the full weight took it to the mat.

         “Are you okay, is it broken?”

         “No, it still bends,” I said checking it.

         “We need to ice that right away.”

         “Yeah, as soon as I get the safety pin in,” I snapped the pin, “Pin in – break time,”  I called back to her as I headed to the refrigerator for ice cubes and a towel.

         We took a 5-minute break as I iced and watched my middle finger turn a serious shade of blue.

         More concerned questions came from my friend . . . . she’s a nurse – she knows how bad it can be.

         “No, it is just a pinch – it isn’t broken – see – I can flex it – YUP turning a nice shade of blue,” I was calm – it was okay – I was trying to assure her.

         She was still concerned.

         After the five minute break, we turned the scaffold on end as she made sure we missed the ceiling fan – good job – that!

         Then we put the platform on.  Our first attempt didn’t go to smoothly, it slipped right down through and she caught it.  But, on the second try – we put it into place perfectly and snapped it on with the clamps.

         Four bolts and it was done – actual time without the icing down of the bruised finger – about 20 minutes.

         “WOW – Girl Power in action.”

         We high fived and accomplished this without hard hats or leather tool belts.

         We took selfies to celebrate!

         The finger – it’s okay – I’m typing with it.

January 25, 2019 – Food is love & Niçoise salad recipe

         This week has been interesting.  I have a friend that I entice to come visit me when she is in town to drop in for “warm brownies.”  I plan them with her ETA to be certain they are right out of the oven when she arrives.

         I make them from a mix – Ghirardelli – works wonderful in my rectangular tart pan.  I cut them finger length one-inch slices and we eat them “warm”.

         Yes, life is better with a warm brownie and a friend.

         Then a few days later, another friend called and said she wanted to visit my new mannequin – she’d known the original Monique and wanted me to introduced her to the new mannequin, Hilga.  [Which I’ve decided to also call Monique.]

         I wanted an excuse to make Biscotti cookies – her pending visit was my excuse.  I made them this morning right after I brewed my morning coffee.

         There is just something about cooking something for someone else – cooking to show love, cooking for someone you love.  To me, that is what cooking really is – an act of love.

         When I have guests, I love to cook them something elegant and scrumptious or something simple and perfect. Or, something they haven’t had in years.

         And, I cook for myself with the same “self-love” principle.

         Tonight I needed something in the category of self-love food.

         Someone asked me once what she could make with a can of tuna fish if she didn’t have mayonnaise.  I immediately answered, “Niçoise salad, use Italian dressing instead of the mayo.”

         That phrase popped into my head when I was draining the juice and adding a few little crumbs of tuna to a small bowl for my cat swishing around my ankles.

         I have this thing about mayonnaise.  I like the small jars and I am so afraid it will go bad before I use it up.  The last jar purchased was a large jar and I am simply leery of it now that it is three-fourths empty.  I want to chuck it, but my husband will use it. 

        

         Yes, I’ll make Niçoise salad with whatever I have on hand – and what is that?

         Celery?  NO. Pecans – YES, and what is this here – OHHH Marinated Artichoke hearts – that is an idea.

         I crumbed the tuna in a bowl, I drained and diced the marinated artichoke hearts into smaller pieces, tossed in a half handful of pecan halves.  I gave it a quick fluff, put it out in a low bowl and I drizzled some Italian dressing on it.

         It tasted fabulous.  The salad didn’t have all the traditional items, tomatoes, hard-boiled eggs, olives, anchovies . . .  But, it worked for me.

         “What did you have for supper?” my husband asked later. [Earlier he opted for a baloney sandwich.]

         “The cat and I had tuna,” was my verbal answer – my mental answer was,

         I had Niçoise salad amour – scrumptious and simple. 

         Note to self – mark the calendar to remind me to do that one again.

January 23, 2019 – Monique’s replacement

         Today Monique’s replacement arrived – not a real person – a Dritz Twinfit Full figure Dress Form.

         Years ago, I used to have a similar dress form in a much “smaller”size.  Since I am no longer that “smaller” size, I ordered a new dress form that represents my current state of rubenesque.

         I am going back to a favorite hobby, sewing as I have been struggling to find any clothes in the stores that I actually like or actually fit. Making my own will solve that two-fold problem.

         For a cute story, see my prior blog:  January 20, 2017 - Monique - my sewing mannequin.

          The dress form arrived early.  I’d been informed she would arrive on the 24^th, but today, I hear the doorbell -  Ding Dong.  I see the back of the UPS man climbing back in his truck and on my doorstep is a large box.

         This afternoon I put her together – the stand is exactly the same – sleek and non-tipping.  The hem pinning thing is the same.  She is exactly like Monique except she is not so svelte so I think I’ll name her Hilga.  A fitting name for a full figured, meat and potato type of gal – I mean dress form.

         I can’t allow her to be naked so I grabbed a white blouse and buttoned it on her and then tossed on my winter cardinal zip vest.

         I set her in the corner of the kitchen to admire her all afternoon.

         My current clothes on her gave me a new perception – funny that – I didn’t realize how really stunning that cardinal vest looks on my “twin” – or actually on me when I wear it.   Now I know why people compliment me when I wear that vest.

         It looks sporty and somewhat elegant in its own way –  I’ve now decided I won’t call her Hilga – my twinfit dress form looked more like my trusted old friend, Monique, this afternoon.

         Turning off the lights to go off to bed this evening, I said to her,

        

         “Welcome back Monique, you will just love the teal green fabric that I’ll be sewing into a stunning dress for you . . . . actually for me.”

January 13, 2019 – That looks familiar since I am the artist.

         I have a Habitat for Humanity resale shop about 3 or 4 miles from my home.  I dropped in to make an appointment for them to pick up my donated office furniture.

         I must say, they are great merchandizers.  There wasn’t a single parking space left a 1:15 p.m. and I had to wait in a queue until someone left so that I could pull in.  And, the line of shoppers was amazing.  They were 6 deep at the cash register the whole time I was there.

         Directly inside the front door, they have a seasonal table and it is jam packed with everything Valentine.  From stuffed animals to heart decorated coffee cups and heart shaped bowls it is really an inexpensive place to shop.

         I browsed their used books and picked up an old paperback by Clancy – The Hunt for Red October for 50 cents.  Last month, after I watched the movie for the umpteenth time I declared what a good story it is and bet the book would be better than the movie.  We shall compare as I feel the movie is one of the top 20 movies of all time.  So, when this snow storm we are anticipating is swirling the flurries, I will curl up and put my nose in an old classic.

         Then, I noticed something interesting.  The balance of the unsold donations I made to my last year’s church rummage sale must have ended up being dropped off at this entity.  In several departments I noticed things that I am sure I donated merely by their familiar scratches or subtle dents.

         Amongst the Valentine items I noticed hand cut wooden houses that I hand burned with designs.  I never got around to painting all of them.  It looks like all the painted ones sold and the non-painted ones are left.  It made me smile that they were out on a merchandising display right at the front door. 

            Someone might find their charm and buy them.  I was surprised the personnel pricing them felt they were worthy of $1.00 each.  I guess they classified it as ‘rustic art’.

         What a charming thought – my cast off art lives on. Even though they are 25+ years old someone still thinks they are worthy of at least a dollar bill each.  How about that – could it be a subtle sign of inflation?

January 12, 2019 – Out with the old . . . then we start with paint.

         Today is a melancholy day for me.  I am changing my formal living room from the closed St. John Title office back to a formal living room.

         Half the day has been spent emptying a file cabinet and moving countless reference books and bookcases along with sucking up the dust bunnies behind and under the full-size office suite of furniture.  My last piece of work will come when I have my electrician put in a new electrical conduit in a new place for the computer.

         I’ve scaled down drastically.  My 7-foot wide by 3-feet deep desk is being replace by a to 48 inch by 22 inch new surface.  I sure hope I can think and write on that small desk area. I will miss the prestige of sitting behind such a huge desk.  It has been a good friend to me for 14 or so years.  I will miss the vast workspace where I sprawled reference materials on a wraparound desk extension.

         Years ago, I worked on a surface about the size of my lap – so I know I can do it – but it will be a challenge. The problem is I am not the type of person to accept change easily – even if it is of my own volition.  This is my decision – so I had better be up to the change.

         What am I frightened?  Maybe my writing will become stilted or jarring due to a possible strained or unworkable atmosphere created by myself ‘scaling back’ to a computer in a corner compared to an entire living room as my writing office.

         But then again, maybe I will be able to answer the telephone in less than four rings because I had to walk completely around the desk and through the window alley before I could reach the telephone.  I think my friends will like that instead of ending up in voice mail most of the time.  That will be a good thing.

         I will hang my hat on that one major improvement to start with.  The next improvement will be the concept of “less is more”.  Less of a desk – less desk clutter.  Though I fear, I will have to do the “laundry-basket-dash” every few days before I teach myself to be more neat and contained and live within my space in a neat way. I should be able to learn how to do that.

         The best part I look forward to is painting the walls that haven’t seen the bristles of a paint brush since December of 2005.  Yes, that will be lovely  - a freshly painted room.  I am opting for a brighter pale yellow – as in the color of good butter.

         If that phrase sounds familiar, it comes from Myrna Loy as Mrs. Muriel Blandings in the movie Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream House.  She plays the wife of Cary Grant in a movie about the “fixer upper house”. It is a 1948 movie that has the same theme as the movie, The Money Pit (1986), starring Tom Hanks and Shelly Long.  If you haven’t seen it – worth watching – TCM has it often and probably streams it.

         Myrna Loy’s entire scene with the builder about what colors she wants in each room is sheer delight to anyone who chooses paint colors by comparison – like me.

         Half way through Myrna says:

         “Now, the dining room.  I’d like yellow.  Not just yellow; a very gay yellow.  Something bright and sunshine-y.  I tell you, Mr. PeDelford, if you’ll send one of your men to the grocer for a pound of their best butter, and match that exactly, you can’t go wrong!”

         You know – that is a good idea- when I go to the paint store to pick out my yellow, I only need to bring a stick of good butter.

         What will the paint store employee think?  Who cares, I’ll butter my toast – ah room – any way I like.  I know it will be scrumptious when I am done.

         Just for fun, I’ve included the entire one-side discussion of paint colors with her builder for you to enjoy.

·       Muriel Blandings: I want it to be a soft green, not as blue-green as a robin's egg, but not as yellow-green as daffodil buds. Now, the only sample I could get is a little too yellow, but don't let whoever does it go to the other extreme and get it too blue. It should just be a sort of grayish-yellow-green. Now, the dining room. I'd like yellow. Not just yellow; a very gay yellow. Something bright and sunshine-y. I tell you, Mr. PeDelford, if you'll send one of your men to the grocer for a pound of their best butter, and match that exactly, you can't go wrong! Now, this is the paper we're going to use in the hall. It's flowered, but I don't want the ceiling to match any of the colors of the flowers. There's some little dots in the background, and it's these dots I want you to match. Not the little greenish dot near the hollyhock leaf, but the little bluish dot between the rosebud and the delphinium blossom. Is that clear? Now the kitchen is to be white. Not a cold, antiseptic hospital white. A little warmer, but still, not to suggest any other color but white. Now for the powder room - in here - I want you to match this thread, and don't lose it. It's the only spool I have and I had an awful time finding it! As you can see, it's practically an apple red. Somewhere between a healthy winesap and an unripened Jonathan. Oh, excuse me...

·       Mr. Delford:  You got that Charlie?

·       Workman: Red, green, blue, yellow, white

·       Mr. Delford: Check

https://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/mr_blandings_builds_his_dream_house/quotes?

January 11, 2019 – The word “woke”.

        Yesterday I received my second issue of The Washington Examiner magazine which is an alternative to the defunct magazine, The Weekly Standard.  The Washington Examiner was kind enough to pick up the balance of my Weekly Standard unused subscription.  Nice guys – I must say – I had anticipated the worst scenario – losing 80% of a yearly paid subscription.  It was a sweet surprise.  Because they have absorbed my subscription I intend to be loyal for at least a few years – as long as I like the content.

        Within a matter of minutes, I ran up on two articles that had the word “woke” used in a new way for me. I am learning new things already was my first thought.  When I got to second time it was used in a matter of 10 pages, I decided I better research this new word usage.

        The first was in the Editorial by Hugo Gurdon:

        “Who taught social-justice warriors that free speech was a problem rather than the foundation of liberal democracy, and that people without “woke” opinions should be denied the chance of being heard.”

        Letter from the Editor – Hugo Gurdon, Washington Examiner, page 4, Volume 25, Number 2

        The second was from the article entitled The Royal millennial –

        “The Duchess is at times a parody of woke Californians, reportedly banning her husband not just from alcohol but also from tea and coffee.  Her preferred substitute?  Mineral water.”

        page 10, ibid

       

Merriam-Webster - woke – adjective – chiefly US slang

“Aware of and actively attentive to important facts and issues (especially issues of racial and social justice)”

Wikipedia – woke – direct quotes taken with footnotes notes

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Woke

        “Woke is a political term of African American origin that refers to a perceived awareness of issues concerning social justice and racial justice.^[1]  It is derived from the African American Vernacular English expression “stay woke, whose grammatical aspect refers to a continuing awareness of these issues.  Its widespread use since 2014 is a result of the Black Lives Matter movement.^[1][2]”

“Oxford Dictionaries records^[3] early political conscious usage in 1962 . . .”

        “The New York Times Magazine, Amanda Hess. raised concerns that the word had been culturally appropriated, writing, ‘The conundrum is built in. When white people aspire to gets points for consciousness, they walk right into the cross hairs between allyship and appropriation’ ”^[12]

            My conclusion from the above research:  I won’t be adopting it into my vocabulary, as I don’t want to be accused of racial appropriation. I am hoping it will fade from usage completely as it seems to me to be a divisive word and I don’t believe we need any more of those at this time.

        As the word “woke” with the above definition has now found its way into magazines I read, I will be paying a bit more attention to it to see if it morphs into some other meaning.